In collaboration, the two archives together confronted one of the biggest obstacles that film preservationists face: “degralescence, ” (h/t Mike Casey) or the combination of degradation (deterioration of an audiovisual work’s physical media) and obsolescence (how and when physical carrier formats for media – ranging from silver nitrate film stock, to VHS tapes and laser discs, to MiniDiscs and beyond – are already if not at risk of becoming obsolete because of sharp declines in the popularity, use and availability of their playback devices). Degralescence can be intimidating for film preservations because there’s often only a finite amount of time to digitize works before their original physical format becomes obsolete.

We admit this article might be a bit “inside baseball,” but for the librarians and archivists out there – and the inquisitive, as well! – this is a detailed and fascinating deep dive into how two very different film archives joined forces against a figurative villain of film preservation.

When mainstream cinema of the 1970s and 1980s was unwilling to place a woman at the heart of the story, she transformed into an irresistible magnetic presence that every actor strives hard for. She was a decorative character, a victim to be avenged by a male hero, or the quintessential mother making enormous sacrifices for the ‘ladla beta’… Smita Patil was the living antithesis.

Portraying strong women characters, she ruled parallel cinema with commanding performances. In any milieu, in any part of the country, her roles essayed the reality of societal norms.

Manthan

Manthan (English: Churning) is a 1976 Hindi film directed by Shyam Benegal, inspired by the pioneering milk cooperative movement of Verghese Kurien, and is written jointly by him and Vijay Tendulkar. It is set amidst the backdrop of the White Revolution of India. Aside from the great measurable success that this project was, it also demonstrated the power of “collective might” as it was entirely crowdfunded by 500,000 farmers who donated Rs. 2 each. The film traces the origins of the movement through its fictionalised narrative, based around rural empowerment, when a young veterinary surgeon, played by Girish Karnad, a character based on the then National Dairy Development Board chief, the 33-year-old Verghese Kurien, who joined hands with local social worker, Tribhovandas Patel, which led to the setting up of a local milk cooperative, in Anand, Gujarat.

Lauren: I got a distinctly Norma Rae vibe from this film – but it’s not a standalone film about labor rights or the power of collective bargaining. And it’s definitely not a film that can be understood out of context from Indian history. It takes place during the “White Revolution” of the 1970s when India was ramping up dairy production (eventually positioning India, decades later, as the number one dairy producer in the world) and shifting the control of production into the hands of Indian dairy farmers.

Gaurav: The first scenes in the film show us just how pessimistic India still is in the aftermath of colonial rule. There’s a lot of distrust of change. The villagers in the film only know one way of thinking, one way of doing things. If the only sky you’ve ever seen is cloudy and gray, it’s difficult to comprehend that it can be blue; that any other shade can exist. That things can be different. I think this inability to believe in change – this struggle between Idealism and Realism, of the “India We Want“ versus the “India We Have“ – is a big theme of Manthan. “When you get a thought in your brain, is that the only thought that you can understand? The only way that you can think?” Dr. Rao (Girish Karnad) asks this of Bindu (Smita Patil), a strong-minded Dalit woman in the village, when she resists his offer to help. Dr. Rao is a veterinarian and a young idealist who arrives from the city with the intention of helping the dairy farmers form a milk cooperative. The milk cooperative, he tells them, will help them get a fair price for the dairy they produce. It will build a system where there’s funding available for roads, schools, and even the cost of caring for their cattle.

But the villagers regard him with skepticism. They don’t want change. They’re comfortable with how things are, even if it might be harming them.

This feels like a legacy of colonialism. This idea of we do things a certain way, this is our way, do not question it, do not challenge it, don’t rock the boat. Change is what risks disrupting the equilibrium. Aren’t things working? Why would you come in and upset the “natural” order of things?

Dr. Rao – moreover, the concept of the milk cooperative itself – introduces revolution. The villagers view revolution as dangerous because it moves them outside of their comfort zone. The community leaders and wealthy dairy buyers see all of this as a threat because the milk cooperative is giving ideas, power and agency to people who don’t normally have those things. Long ago they did, before colonial rule. But it’s been so long that they’ve gotten used to the way things are. Living under the heel of Mishra Ji (Amrish Puri), the local businessman and ostensible diary lord. Mishra Ji sets the prices. He influences local politics, buys votes, and buys their love.

Lauren: Am I understanding you correctly that you’re saying the reason that many people in post-colonial India are resistant to change is because they saw their world steamrolled by colonial rule and oppression?

Gaurav: This may be too reductive, but I think of it a bit like an abusive relationship. Indians living in the shadow of colonial rule are accustomed to a certain kind of abusive power and authority being lorded over them. And it’s hard to break free from that. Does that make sense?

Lauren: I don’t think that’s reductive. It just gets to the essence of the relationship. It’s a sick system. Colonialism is a sick system. Abusive relationships are sick systems. In a sick system, you’re so exhausted that you become comfortable with what you’re familiar, even if it’s not healthy for you. Even if it’s not what you truly want. You just begin to think you want it, because your abuser has convinced you that you need them – and their guidance, or whatever artifact of that guidance – to keep you on the straight and narrow.
Gaurav: Let’s go back to Dr. Rao’s first interactions with the villages – in particular, Bindu.

Right away there’s a sense of distrust. You don’t belong here. Who are you? What do you want? Why should I give you the milk I’ve worked hard to farm? There’s an “us” versus “them” division, discord, disharmony.

What are your thoughts on that first sequence with Dr. Rao asking Bindu for a sample of her cattle’s milk so that he can analyze the fat content?

Lauren: The moment she sees him she doesn’t trust him. He’s an outsider from the city. She thinks he’s there from the government to tell her to stop having kids. “The Have-Less Children People Already Came and Went!” she shouts. She’s someone who doesn’t have any fucks left to give when it comes to authority.

I especially loved how when he asked Bindu, “Where is this child’s father?” she shouts, “His father is right here!” She’s talking about herself. We don’t see a man around. (Her husband becomes an issue later.) Our introduction to Bindu is an independent woman who runs her home like a business and on her own terms. She hasn’t quite realized yet how much she may be losing because her community continues to kowtow to the dairy lords lowballing them on the price of milk.

Gaurav: I also appreciate her no fucks left to give attitude. She’s bold, honest, and confrontational.

More to come.

Here’s a shortform documentary that would make a perfect distraction for your Sunday afternoon.

Two decades after a fire damaged the master film negatives for Satyajit Ray’s The Apu Trilogy, a team of film preservationists reconstructed the entire film series, frame by frame. The amount of work that went into this restoration should be recognized and applauded.

An Act of Faith: Saving the Apu Trilogy (2015) is available to watch for free on Youtube.

Charulata

Satyajit Ray’s exquisite story of a woman’s artistic and romantic yearning takes place in late nineteenth-century, pre-independence India, in the gracious home of a liberal-minded, workaholic newspaper editor and his lonely wife, Charulata (Madhabi Mukherjee). When her husband’s poet cousin (Soumitra Chatterjee) comes to stay with them, Charulata finds herself both creatively inspired and dangerously drawn to him. Based on a novella by the great Rabindranath Tagore, Charulata is a work of subtle textures, a delicate tale of a marriage in jeopardy and a woman taking the first steps toward establishing her own voice.

Lauren: There are a few reasons I wanted this to be the first film we watched together for the blog.It’s appropriate to kick things off with a work by one of India’s most legendary filmmakers. I also wanted a film that, despite being made by a very famous director, does not yet share the fame or cultural import of a work like Satyajit Ray’s The Apu Trilogy [Pather Panchali (1955), Aparajito (1956) and The World of Apu (1959)].

I also find it appealing that the titular character is a woman. Furthermore, I had seen Charulata once before. I wanted a chance to reflect on my feelings after a second viewing. Especially after gaining new insight from you. There is nuance and context there that isn’t going to be as immediate or obvious to me as it is to you.

You had a very strong reaction to the film.

Gaurav: I did.

For me this is a film about creation. About energy. And how in this world, in this time [ed: late 19th century Calcutta], men and women express it differently and the limits of that.It’s about space. Space within the home.How these men and women occupy themselves and how they create and add to their environment. And subsequently how they are perceived in these spaces. How Britain views the Indian subject. How men view women and their role in society. And it gets so personal and narrow. In politics. In home. In husband/wife. In family. In poetry/business.It’s like a Russian doll.We see things get smaller and more constrained.

Lauren: The film does take on a progressively tighter sensibility as it moves toward its conclusion. Not claustrophobic, but very nearly.

I’m curious how you feel about how the film presents the respective societal roles of Indian men and Indian women. As well as how Indian men and Indian women view each other. Do those values function differently – in the vacuum of the film as a work of pure Indian cinema – from how they might function beyond the scope of Indian cinema?